BEST LAID PLANS Part 2
by mabb5
Summary: Picard decides to go dig something up, but doesn't quite get there.  Geordi meets Leah.  Riker relaxes.


_**THE BEST LAID PLANS: Part 2: Cry Unk!**_

_**(Sequel to THE BEST LAID PLANS, Part 1)**_

Revised, April 2013. No major changes. Just correcting typos and continuity errors.

_CRY "UNK!" or running away never solved a problem. _All the usual disclaimers apply.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Picard listened to the unsteady thrum of the Valosian cargo ship's warp engine. He was half-inclined to go down to engineering and offer their chief engineer, if there was such a misfortunate soul on board this ship, his help. He swung off his hammock, barely avoiding hitting his elbow against a bulkhead. He had never thought that he'd one day consider Galen's quarters on board Baran's pirate ship to be luxurious. In contrast to the grey guest quarters of a Valosian vessel, those pirate quarters were positively palatial.

This was the fifth ship he'd been on during his very round-about journey to Gaudete II. The Valosian ship, the _Unk_, was also the worst of all of the vessels on which he had traveled. Very little worked as it should from replicators to sonic showers. And though his fare had been cheap, Picard wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser to have waited for the cruise ship the _Princess Ardella_ to have continued this leg of the journey. It would have only meant staying on Starbase 66 an extra ten days. But those days would have been ten days in which he would have had time to think about Beverly. And right now, he was not in the mood to be introspective about Beverly. So, he'd opted for the first available ship. _It had been a poor choice._

The only thing he didn't regret about journeying on the _Unk_, were his fellow travelers, a settler woman named Mela and her twins, a boy named Jory and a girl named Harla.

A long time ago, he'd once dreaded being in the company of children. But that had been before Mirabor and Batai, and even Wesley. Now, on board a dreary vessel with little to do but complain - which was not part of his inherent nature - he found the company of children to be preferable.

There was a tap on his cabin hatch.

He moved the two feet from his hammock to the hatch, opened it and saw Mela, a very tall and very pregnant woman who was traveling to join her husband on Tohvun, a planet that had recently been settled. Privately, he questioned the wisdom of a newly-settled farming planet so near the Cardassian/Federation demilitarized zone. But as a Starfleet officer and a gentleman, he'd learned a long time ago that it was not polite to question the logic of other people's dreams.

"John Luke." She said his name with a slight guttural accent, thinking that _Luke_ was his last name.

Picard didn't correct this misconception. No one on board was aware of his real identity for he'd been listed as _J. Picard_ on the ship's manifest. He preferred traveling with little fanfare. If he'd journeyed as a famous Starfleet officer he would have had to answer too many questions about what he was doing on board such a ship, not to mention being the recipient of unwelcome personal attention. For he'd never been the type of man to trade on his position for favors. _He was beginning to question the wisdom of such a decision._

And then there was the possibility of running into survivors of Wolf 359. Though it had happened only a few times, right now he felt too vulnerable to display the tolerance and tact that such distraught people usually demanded. The visible scars of being a Borg assimilant had vanished; the wounds to his soul would not go away.

Mela stood in the hatchway, nervous around this quiet, graceful, controlled man whose very demeanor bespoke of so much hidden in his life. He said so little about himself.

"I'm simmering up some vegetables for lunch. Won't you join us?"

Though they have been on board together for four days, this was the first time she'd asked him to share a meal.

Picard didn't realize that over thirty years of being a command officer had given him such a natural, imposing bearing that most people found him intimidating - including Mela Torez. But he had shown great kindness to her twins so she felt obligated to be as hospitable as one could be on board this lousy ship.

He considered her offer of lunch. It sounded like a wiser choice than trying to get some unknown edible out of the lone replicator in their area. This morning he'd even been forced to bash the control panel before he'd gotten some tepid liquid that was by no means identifiable as drinkable _tea._

"Only if you permit me to bring something." He mentally reviewed the contents of his bag of rations that he'd originally intended for possible use at the excavation. "I have some fruit and chocolate that I can offer."

Mela smiled. She was a pretty woman with long brown hair. Her blue eyes were full of enthusiasm for the life that she was about to begin. Though of Terran ancestry, she'd never even seen Earth for she was a sixth generation settler.

Being the recipient of her smile caused Picard, for a brief moment, to consider that Mela's husband Jorge, was a very lucky man.

"That sounds wonderful, John. You're much more good at this starship travel business stuff than me. This trip is only the second time I've ever been off-planet."

Picard turned around. He didn't have far to reach for one of his bags. He removed a package of dried fruit and a box of chocolate.

"Shall we?"

She eyed his tiny, but neatly organized cabin before he shut the hatch. "You're used to this, aren't you? It looks like you've gone around quite a bit in your life. I bet you've traveled a lot. Have you been to many planets?"

Her innocent questions caused him to grimace. "I don't care to discuss it," he snapped. He regretted his rudeness the moment he said the words. Just because he was in a lousy mood was not justification to inflict his displeasure on someone else who was only trying to be friendly. He could see that his retort had hurt her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Torez. I didn't mean to upset you." He could tell that she wanted to accept his apology. He had a sense that she was surprised by anyone apologizing to her.

"I shouldn't have pried. My husband is always telling me that I ask way too many questions…"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Please, Mrs. Torez. I'm only this disagreeable when I can't get a proper cup of tea. And I shouldn't have been taking it out on you. This ship…"

"It's not exactly a cruise ship, is it?" Picard nodded. Mela continued. "I've seen those pictures advertising such ships. Imagine a space ship where you have your own window, replicator and anything else you could wish for! They even have restaurants on board for fine dining." She glanced up the corridor. "Here they define luxury with owning a pot."

For a second Picard was tempted to tell her about what life had been like on board his starship. He wondered if she'd believe that he had fresh flowers in his quarters every other day.

They walked down the corridor to her quarters which was only about two square meters larger than his cabin.

Sitting on the edge of the bunk that the twins used, he shared their meal, and told them of his days in France as a boy. Once Mela had discovered that he'd been born on Earth, she had been full of questions. These were questions that he did not mind answering.

For a while he did not remember Beverly, and all of the problems that he'd left behind. But then the meal was over, and after he'd tutored Mela's twins in fractions for about an hour, it was time for him to leave.

And then the ship lurched and lurched again. The sound of the engines changed. Trying not to appear worried, he stuck his head outside the door and looked up and down the short corridor that defined the passenger section of the freighter. No one was running around or screeching in panic. He supposed that this was a good sign. But Jean-Luc by his very nature, upbringing and training, was a cautious man.

"Mrs. Torez…"

"Please, John Luke. Can't you call me Mela? After all, we're going to be sharing living space for the next eight days."

"Mela." He glanced down the corridor, then pointed at a hatch. "Mela, that hatch leads to an escape pod. I've already examined it. It's in working order." He didn't add the fact that he considered it to be a minor miracle that the pod was functional. "Just to be on the safe side…"

She grabbed his arm and tersely whispered, "Are we in danger?"

He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it. "No, we are not in any immediate danger. As I said, it is just as a precaution that maybe you should show the children where the escape pod is. And place all of your non-essential luggage in the pod. I will do the same."

She intuited more than he was saying.

"Maybe I'd better put everything in the pod, and only let the children sleep and play in our quarters."

She looked up and down the corridor, too. It was the only place she'd been since she'd come on board the _Unk._ For the ship's captain had not permitted his passengers to go anywhere else. Though Picard had chaffed at the restrictions, he complied with the captain's orders. He was not about to question a captain's authority even though he knew he could probably override the man's decision with his Starfleet image alone.

"I'm not an expert about space ships like you but even I could tell that this ship's not in the best of shape." She squeezed his hand back. For a brief moment, especially when he smiled up at her, she wondered what it would be like to be with another man other than her husband. This one was a man who could tempt any woman, if he were so inclined.

"Why don't we share out meals?" he offered. She was surprised by his words, though he didn't take them back.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to give up all your chocolate. You know how children are, always pleading and even whining…"

"I can assure you, Madam - Mela - that I have more than enough chocolate packed in my bags. I can afford to share them with two six-year-olds." His expression softened, as his gaze looked beyond her to a place in his distant past. "I can remember my daughter doing her best to cajole an extra sweet out of me. Even after her mother had said _no_. And especially after her mother had said _no…_"

Mela removed her hand. "You are married?"

"Once - long ago in a dream. Not any more."

During his rest period, Jean-Luc was too restless to sleep. There was little space in the passenger's area for any kind of vigorous exercise, and he missed it. He did practice his meditations and T'ai Chi Ch'uan. Still it wasn't enough. He was on edge, whether it be from his uncertainty over the safety of the ship or from his unresolved relationship with Beverly.

_Beverly._

He rolled, as best he could, on his hammock, trying to find a comfortable position. But as long as Beverly was on his mind, that wasn't going to happen soon. He finally faced what he had been avoiding. His anger cooled. He could now remember things in calmness. He thought about their last time together and wondered what, if anything, he could have done to have changed what had happened between them…

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

They'd stayed abed for almost the entire time of Beverly's leave. Nights and days blurred into the other as they'd concentrated on matters of the flesh between them. This time became one of the most memorable periods of Picard's life. For a while now, he'd been in harmony with Beverly. But it wasn't to last, as usual.

Their problems came to a head when he'd gone down to the kitchen to fix a light repast. Beverly's duty jacket had fallen off of the clothes peg by the Dutch doors. So naturally he retrieved it in order to hang it back up. And that's when he noticed them - four shiny pips on her collar. Beverly had been promoted to captain and she hadn't bothered to mention it.

He went to their bedroom and just simply handed her the jacket.

"Captain."

This word was more an indictment than a lover's congratulations.

"Jean-Luc, I meant to tell you, but…"

"Tell me now."

He was trying to act reasonably and calmly, even though there was an anger building in his heart that could destroy them both. He strove to control it.

She slid out of bed and put on an embroidered floral turquoise silk robe that had been a gift from Deana. She tightened the belt and then turned to face her lover.

"I've been offered a ship - CMO of the hospital ship the _Clara Barton_."

"She's galaxy class. I didn't know that she was that close to being commissioned."

"She's not. She's months away. Starfleet command wants me to supervise her outfitting and the picking of the crew."

"As her captain?"

"My promotion was not contingent upon my accepting the captaincy. I've been offered that post, but I haven't give them my answer yet."

"Why not? You'd be a good captain. You're certainly capable of it."

She was pleased that he could say such words of affirmation to her. "I'm not so sure that I'd be a good captain for the same reasons I wasn't the best of CMOs for you on the _Enterprise."_

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. "Beverly, why this self doubt? I have always given you the highest approval ratings on your medical and command evaluations - including those of a line officer. I can think of no other medical officer who is better or more qualified for command than you."

"Medical officer, yes. Line command, no."

He reached over and brushed aside a strand of hair that was threatening to fall over her eyes. For a moment his fingers lingered, cupping her face briefly. "Command or medical, you are one of the finest officers with whom I have ever served - and hope to serve with again."

She responded to his words by gratefully kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Jean-Luc. But that still doesn't alter the facts that on occasion, I have placed my Hippocratic oath ahead of my oath to Starfleet. And that in the future, if I have to make such a choice again, I still will be a doctor first, and a Starfleet officer second."

Picard remembered several incidents from Doctor Reyga to Brekka to Kyril Finn.

"I still think that you'd make a good command officer, Beverly. Starfleet needs people with your passion for truth and honor."

She said nothing. For a while, they just sat there, holding each other. He knew he had to ask the silent question that was between them.

"You suggested that I be offered the captaincy of the _Barton_, didn't you?"

The tears threatening to flow down her cheeks gave him his answer. She finally spoke, her voice choking with the pain that she felt for him. "They said that you weren't even being considered for this chair."

A fleeting smile crossed over his face.

"Perhaps I should resign my commission. I was a teacher once at a university and then at the Academy. Maybe I can be a teacher again."

"When were you a teacher?" Beverly had thought that she'd known almost all of the details about Jean-Luc's life.

"After my _Stargazer _court martial. I taught archaeology on Centauri and then tactics at the Academy. And ethics."

"But not to children."

"I survived _cadets_, Beverly. Surely _children_ can't be that much more of a challenge." He brought her fingertips up to his lips and kissed each one lightly. She shivered. "No matter. I can adjust. What say you? Shall I become a civilian and join you on board the _Clara Barton as your husband?"_

She stiffened. "Jean-Luc, don't even think about joking about this." Even as she said the words she knew that Jean-Luc would never do such a thing.

"Beverly… surely you've considered marriage. It is the logical progression to our relationship."

She removed her hand from his, shaking her head. "I don't know, Jean-Luc. I've never really thought about it."

He knew she was lying. He just didn't understand why. He abruptly stood and turned away from her. "You owe me the truth, Beverly. If you don't want to be my wife, just say so. I can understand and accept it. But don't pretend that you have never ever considered the possibility of our relationship in that light."

She stood, and came up behind him placing her hands on his grey silk clad shoulders, rubbing his tense muscles for a while.

"You're right. There were times when I'd dreamed about being your wife. And heaven knows Wesley, when we were together on board the _Enterprise_, did everything possible to foster such a connection. But I've never, ever seriously thought about our being married. My life is complicated enough by just being your lover, much less by anything else."

He turned around to face her. "I don't know how good a civilian I'd make. I'm a little out of practice. But I'd be willing to try, if it were a way for us to be together."

"The _Barton_ is a medical and hospital ship."

"There still will be families. You'll need someone to teach their children."

"Do you really think that you could step aside and let me, or some other officer, be your commanding officer? You've been a captain for over thirty years. _Do you really think that you could just automatically stop being a captain?_ I don't just mean your command, but your rank as well - your instinctive responses?"

"I would try. That's all I can promise, Beverly. If you were my captain, I'd follow you anywhere." He put his arms about her waist and hugged her briefly. "Take the chair, Beverly. That would be the best thing that you could do for yourself, for Starfleet - and for me. You were born to be a doctor, but along the way you became a damn fine command officer. Starfleet needs officers of your caliber. There are none better than you."

She was crying openly now. Her pain was spilling forth. "Jean-Luc, I want to believe you. Lord knows, it would be easier on both of us if I could accept that you'd readily give up Starfleet. But is it really and truly possible? Can you do it?"

"I can only try, Beverly. I cannot promise anything more."

"I've got to think about this, Jean-Luc. Please give me the time."

He stepped back from her. His voice was flat, emotionless - as if chipped from Ice. _"You don't believe that I __**can**__ do it - that I can give up Starfleet for you."_

She had to be honest with him. "I do know that you will try. I just don't think that you can do it_. __**You're too used to controlling every thing and every one. Even me! **__You_decided to try and stop me from being your CMO when I was first assigned to the _Enterprise. _And yes, I know that you changed your mind. _But, you didn't even think to ask me in the first place_! And _that_ hasn't changed." She shook with an anger that was threatening to burgeon forth. "Why do you think I left after that first year?"

"You never told me."

She almost shrieked. "_You never even asked_! I needed you - needed more from you than just a proper, officious cold word from you, now and then. And you wouldn't even dare to offer me your friendship back then. It would have been _improper. _It took me a whole year to decide that I could accept your terms and live with the emotional wasteland that you provided."

He took another step away from her, stunned by her accusations. He didn't comprehend them.

"_**When I lost Jack, I lost you too, Jean-Luc. Why? Why did you leave me, too?"**_

He could not answer her questions. He _dared_ not answer her questions.

She stepped up to him and stared at him, openly daring him to respond.

He stepped around her and went to the doorway. "I am taking the Gaudete job. That should give you enough time to think over all of your options. And to decide what is best for your career, _Captain_."

She was trembling with suppressed anger. "_Jean-Luc! This isn't a business negotiation!"_

"_Isn't it?" _His voice was even colder, and as judgmental as he could make it.

"_It's our lives!"_

"_Together?"_

She couldn't answer him_._

"_I think not."_

He grabbed his running clothes and left the room. He had to try very hard not to hear her cursing and sobbing, as he ran down the stairs.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

The next few days on board the _Unk _were uneventful, though Picard grew more and more concerned about the condition of the ship. It didn't help matters any, when he realized that the ship was rendezvousing with other ships that hadn't been listed on the official route itinerary.

There'd been a reason why the ship's captain had not questioned Picard too closely, when he'd come on board. No one had asked too many questions on board this ship. Picard suspected to do otherwise would be quite unhealthy. This captain and his crew reminded him of smugglers and pirates - only they smelled more.

Picard suspected smuggling, the Maquis or worse. He also decided that the sooner he was off of this ship, the better. And he'd take Mela and her children with him. He'd seen the way the crew had dealt with Mela during an occasional encounter. He had a feeling that if he hadn't been around, her treatment would have been quite different than what it was now. He had enough credits in his bank account to find the lady a better way to get to Tohvun other than this ship.

Picard had spent the passing hours conversing with Mela, tutoring her children and teaching all of them the basics about the escape pod. He'd even taken to sleeping in his clothes and had recommended to Mela that she and her children do the same. Not that Picard ever claimed to be psychic, but he had a sense of disaster about this voyage, and he thought it best that they all be prepared.

When there were only two days away from their port, it happened. The sound of the engines altered, and then they stopped. Picard woke up, sensing the change. At first, he thought that it was yet another unofficial rendezvous. But then he heard the screams and what sounded like disruptor blasts rebounding off of bulkheads. He quickly slipped into his boots and grabbed the two phasers and Tricorder that he stored by his hammock. Checking the corridor before he entered it, he then went over to Mela's cabin and pounded on her hatch.

"Mela. Come. We've got to get out of here."

When she opened the door, he was pleased to see that she was dressed, and that hiding behind her were two ready, but sleepy children. He handed her his spare phaser.

"It's set on stun. Don't be afraid to use it if you have to."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know - but it's nothing good."

She silently took in his words, following him leading the children down the corridor to the escape pod hatch. Once inside of the pod, Picard quickly set about making things secure after locking the hatch.

Though the children were fractious, he ignored them. Mela quietly did whatever she was told. And when they'd done all that they could do short of leaving the ship, Picard pulled out his Tricorder.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"I don't know." He worked on adjusting his instrument. "If we're lucky, it's only a minor dispute between smugglers. If we're not, it could be pirates or worse."

He didn't mince his words.

All of the horror stories about pirates that had floated about the galaxy and been exaggerated with every telling, preyed on her mind. "Tell me what to do." She said it calmly, though she instinctively crossed her hands over her belly, as a protective gesture for her unborn child.

Picard had to give her credit. For someone who wasn't Starfleet trained, she was behaving rather well. "If they're renegade Ferengi we can negotiate our ransom."

Mela whitened dramatically. "It took all our money just to book this passage. Jorge has the rest."

"Don't worry, Mela. I've enough credits in my accounts for all of us, to satisfy any Ferengi."

She didn't waste his time with foolish protestations. "Who else?"

Picard thought for a moment. "In this part of the galaxy, they could be rogue Klingons."

"Mother of God! Klingons!"

"I've had certain dealings with Klingons, before. The rumors don't do them justice. They won't harm you or the children." He silently added _providing that they are honorable Klingons still loyal to Gowron…_

"And if they are Cardies?"

Picard's attempt at a reassuring smile became strained. "You and the children will be reasonably safe with Cardassians."

"But what about you?"

"I'll only be safe if they don't run an identity check." He couldn't understand why Mela suddenly looked so relieved. "I've had past dealings with Cardassians. I do not care for their company or their version of hospitality."

"You're Maquis?" She almost sounded hopeful.

"No."

Mela was still thinking the worst. "And if they're Andorian pirates?" she whispered.

"Then, we're in considerable trouble." For a moment he thought that she was going to faint, but then she rallied.

"What can we do?"

"If we can get away from the _Unk_ without being detected, we'll head for the nearest M class planet. I've got an emergency beacon in my bags. Once the attackers have left, I'll turn it on." He tried to reassure her. "Who knows? Maybe, if we're lucky, they will turn out to be only Maquis raiders."

"Oh, pray that they are, John Luke!"

Now he was getting suspicious. "Why?"

"Jorge went to Tohvun in order to join the Maquis. He wanted to farm on a free planet."

Picard considered all the things that he could say to her about the Maquis and didn't. "If they are the Maquis, you'll be safe with them."

She sensed what he didn't say. "But what about you? Won't you be safe with the Maquis?"

"I think it best if we don't encounter anyone at all. Let's see if we can get out of here without being detected." He looked at the twins, and then knelt down in front of them. "Jory. Harla. You have to be brave right now, and do what your Mother and I tell you to do. Promise?" They both nodded. "Good." He looked up at their mother. "Buckle them up, then take the chair next to mine."

He moved over to the comm panel and sat down in the first chair. He worked on his Tricorder and patched in the readings from the sensors.

"I can't identify the boarder's ship. They don't have an ID registry signal." He looked up from the control panel and glanced over at Mela. "We seem to be near a planetary system with an asteroid belt. If I can get us out of here, I'm going to head for it."

Mela may have been planet bound most of her life, but she'd heard about the many dangers of going through an asteroid belt. "You're good enough to pilot through an asteroid belt?"

He grimly smiled, more to himself rather than to reassure the lady. He thought of the two ships that he'd lost. "Depends upon whom you ask." Realizing that she might not take his words in the manner in which he had intended, he added, "Let's just get out of here. If this ship is maneuverable, I can pilot it in that belt." He didn't give voice to all of the other potential problems from trying to determine their location to hoping that they had enough supplies on board to survive a lengthy trip. He worked on the control panel for a while. "We've got shields. I'm going to cut us away from the _Unk._" Moments later they were free from the freighter.

"Pray," he suggested.

"What?"

He guided the pod to a position close and parallel to the _Unk_. He hoped that they could hide there. The marauder's ship was out of sight, on the opposite side of the _Unk._ "Pray that they're too busy on both bridges to notice this pod leaving."

He gave thanks that the _Unk_ was an ungainly ship, with a bulky midsection. It had been designed for cargo and not for swiftness of passage. For a few minutes he thought that they were in luck. The attacking ship was not moving. But then alarms started sounding all over his comm panel and Tricorder.

"_Merde!"_

His fingers moved rapidly over the control panel. The pod's engines, such as they were, revved up. He plotted a course straight for the nearest asteroid. They almost made it.

"Hang on," he tersely ordered.

Before she could even ask, the pod shook then rocked. There was a blinding burst of light. And then the _Unk_ was no more.

"Dear heavens…" she whispered.

For a few tense minutes, he didn't say anything. Then he breathed a long, deep sigh. It had been tricky, but they'd reached the asteroids. Picard guided the pod, on quarter impulse power, behind the nearest sizable rock.

"Now what?" Mela whispered, still shaking from the death of the _Unk_ and her crew.

Picard used the Tricorder to scan the interior of the tiny pod. "Some radiation exposure, nothing serious." His words were terse. "The attacking ship - they survived, but they appear damaged."

"Can they come after us?"

Picard looked over his Tricorder's data. "I don't think so. Their ship is too big."

"So, what do we do?"

"We wait until they leave."

Seven hours later, Picard guided the pod out of the asteroid base, and plotted a course to the nearest M class planet, in the Kelrabi system. The Kelrabi system had been turned over to the Federation during the recent border negotiations. But Picard wasn't sure that this wasn't more a paper change than a planetary one. He was sure that there would be Cardassians on the planet. However he had no choice. They only had ten day's worth of supplies and air. Kelrabi VII was their only possible destination.

Two hours later they were being hailed. Picard used the pod's limited sensors to scan the space around them, but they weren't powerful enough to show anything.

"What do you want me to do, John Luke?"

"If we're boarded, let me do the talking."

"What if they ask me questions?"

"Tell them I'm your husband's cousin and that I'm escorting you to Jorge." He smiled reassuringly. "After the last few days, I certainly know enough about your background to qualify as a family member."

Quietly Mela responded, "But I still know next to nothing about you…"

They were hailed again. This time, Picard answered it.

A few minutes later a tractor beam latched on to their pod. "Hide your phaser," Picard ordered. "Don't use it unless it's absolute necessary."

The pod shook as it was dragged inside of the smuggler's ship. And this time it felt and sounded like it had crashed onto a deck. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Picard opened up the hatch.

"_Mon Dieu…,"_ he whispered, when he came face to face with nine phasers pointed at him.

A mud-yellow wiry Teraen stepped forward, waving phasers in two of his four hands. Picard took this as a command to follow the fellow. So he did, with his hands upraised. Another humanoid whose species Picard couldn't identify, pushed Mela and her children behind him. They went _en masse_ down the corridor until they arrived at a ready room, and then were escorted inside. It took Picard a moment to adjust to the dimmer light in the ready room. He could see that there were several figures about the table.

"So, you're the waffa birds that flew away from the freighter," a big voice boomed. "You gave me a fair chase." The man shoved away from the rectangular table and stood. He was a giant of a man, with a braided beard almost as long as his scraggly grey hair. He had a big belly. And, most importantly, he was pointing a disruptor straight at Picard's artificial heart.

"Who are you?" It was said pleasantly enough, but the menace was unmistakable.

Picard calmly answered back. "I could ask the same about you."

"But this conversation became moot when Picard was jacked. "_Merde!_" he whispered when he could catch his breath. For he was being kissed. Thoroughly. Knowingly.

"John Luke!" Mela screamed, fearing that this was an attack. With the way he was being kissed, it was hard to tell the difference between love or war.

"Fancy meeting you here - _Johnny_."

A woman took a step back, releasing him, rather relishing her moment and the pole-axed expression on Picard's face.

"Welcome aboard the _Adama_," she said, with a grin that wouldn't quit.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Reginald Endicott Barclay III entered the quarters that he shared with newly promoted three-shiny-pip Commander Geordi LaForge.

When Geordi and Reg had been transferred to the Daystrom Institute Annex at Utopia Planetia, both men had been pleased and excited about the posting. But they quickly discovered that officer's quarters, in what was one of the oldest functioning Starfleet facilities, didn't come close to what they had become accustomed to on the _Enterprise. _Living space was at a premium on the UP.

The Daystrom Institute had spent most of their monies on improving the research building facilities. Improving the crew's quarters were almost an afterthought. Though each officer was entitled to their own quarters, if they shared, they'd get a four room suite instead of two tiny rooms alone.

"Lights up, 20%," Reg ordered the computer, as he stood in the center of their common room.

Idly, he wondered about his quarters. _If this was what the Daystrom Institute offered commanders in Starfleet, how badly cramped were the quarters for noncoms?_

Barclay looked about the grey and beige room that was used as a combination living room, dining room, den, and on one occasion, their poker room. Not that Barclay was obsessively neat, but it had been a long time since he'd shared living quarters with anyone. Even as an ensign, no one had wanted to share quarters with him, so he'd always been alone as an officer. He started picking up the discarded plates, socks and padds that Geordi had left about the room. He wondered if Geordi had always been this messy, or was it since the crash of the _Enterprise_ that he'd become a slob.

The door to Geordi's bedroom was open, so Reg peeked inside. Geordi lay collapsed, face forward, across the bed, his feet was still dragging on the floor. His visor had rolled off the bed. By his hand was another knocked over tumbler. Reg went inside and picked up the glass and sniffed.

"Damn. Blue ale, again."

Not for the first time he wished Deanna Troi was nearby. Personally, he missed her as a friend and as his therapist. Now, Geordi needed her. So far at UP, Barclay had found no one else that he wanted to take her place.

But right now, something was seriously troubling his friend. Geordi had been drinking too much, too often. Even when he was hung over, Geordi was still the best damn engineer in Starfleet. But sooner or later, someone else was going to notice that Geordi had been functioning on auto-pilot as of late.

The doorbell chimed. Barclay ignored it. It chimed insistently again. "Damn." He left Geordi's room, and closed the door. "Enter."

Leah Brahms stomped into the room, her rose chamois skirt flapping about her calves. "Where is he?"

One didn't need to be a telepath to see that she was angry. Furious.

"Uh, who, Doctor?"

She looked about the room, noting the single closed door. "Is he in there?"

"Uh, do you mean Commander LaForge?"

"You know damn well who I mean, Mr. Barclay!" She took a step closer to the door.

"He's uh… not in there…"

She darted around him aiming for the door.

"No. No! He's not in there, that is, uh, he's elsewhere…" Barclay blocked her progress. "Are you sure that you're looking for Geordi?"

"Get out of my way!" she warned

"Uh, Doctor…"

Suddenly the bedroom door swung open.

"Reg! Shut up! Can't you see I'm trying to sleep!" a disheveled Geordi shouted. He stumbled into the living room. And then he noticed Dr. Brahms. "Leah!" He didn't sound too happy to see her.

"You missed my staff meeting this morning!"

"So? _You're not my boss!"_

She glowered at LaForge. "_Oh yes I am your Boss_!" she angrily enunciated. "You've missed four staff meetings in the past ten days! You owe me a minimum of three revised Heisenberg compensator upgraded designs!"

"So, put me on report!" he yelled back, which was a mistake on his part, for suddenly the headache that had been only unbearable turned into a horde of thundering Ophiucan wildery beasties trampling across his forehead straight down into his stomach. "I'm going to be sick!" He dashed to the bathroom.

"He's sick?" she whispered, looking at Barclay with an accusatory stare. "Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't he in sickbay?"

"Uh, Doctor, uh…"

The sound of Geordi vomiting silenced him.

Leah tapped her comm badge. "Sickbay."

Suddenly Barclay reached over and stilled her hand. "Don't. That is, uh, Doctor, uh, please don't call sickbay."

Furious that Barclay was interfering with her, she barked, "Why not?"

"I know what's wrong with, uh, Ge…Ge…Geo… that is Commander LaForge."

She grabbed her badge back. "What?"

"I'm n…n…not sure." Barclay's stuttering was getting worse.

Leah took a deep breath, walked over to a couch, and shoved off the books that were on it. Then she sat down, pointing to the cushion next to her. "Sit, Commander."

Barclay sat.

"What's going on?" She shook her head. "And I'm not going to call Sickbay, for now."

Barclay relaxed a little. "I'm not sure."

"You already said that, Reg. Explain."

"I think that is has something to do with the loss of the _Enterprise_. Geordi, well, he's got a whole lot of guilt about that."

"Why?"

"The Duras sisters - they used Geordi's visor to get the shield frequencies. That's how they destroyed the _Enterprise_."

"That wasn't in the official published report."

"There was a lot that wasn't in the official public report, Dr. Brahms. Especially what happened to Geordi. Soran tortured him."

"Oh, Geordi. What they did to you," she whispered. For a moment she let herself feel. Then her defense shields were back in place. In a firm voice she stated, "So, Geordi blames himself. What's he been doing?"

Barclay looked nervously about the small room, his eyes becoming fixated on the replicator on the opposite beige wall.

Leah took Barclay's hand. "Reg, right now, this is just a conversation between two people who are close friends of Geordi. It is off the record. However, if you force me to order you to tell me what is going on, then our conversation will be on the record. You've given me the impression that this would not be what is best for Geordi."

"Uh, Doctor…"

"Trust me, Reg. I'm Geordi's friend too."

"The replicator."

"What?" She was puzzled by his statement.

"Geordi rigged it. Changed it."

"What do you mean by Geordi _rigged_ it? For what?"

"Ale."

"The replicator is what ails him?"

Reg shook his head. "Ale! Blue ale!"

"What does that have to do with…"

Barclay interrupted her. "Na…na… not sy…sy… Hell, it's alcohol!"

Brahms paused for a second. "But the safeguards…" She glanced over at the bathroom door. "If there's anyone in Starfleet who can work his way around any safeguards, it's Geordi." She noticed an empty glass on the floor and reached down to pick it up. She sniffed it and then put it on a table. "There's no mention of a substance abuse problem in his records."

"He doesn't drink. Not often. Not even the synthehol stuff. Only lately - it's been kind of different." With a ferocity that surprised even himself, Reg cursed, "Those damn Klingons! What they destroyed… hurt…"

There was a noise from the bathroom. Then Geordi stumbled out. He didn't look very good, but at least he'd cleaned up.

He shook his head and looked at Leah. "God, you _are_ here. I thought I'd been dreaming…" He lurched over to an armchair facing Leah and Reg. "I - I'm sorry, Dr. Brahms." He waved his hands blindly about. "This mess. I apologize. I drank too much last night," he sheepishly admitted.

"That's obvious," Leah tartly commented. "What are you going to do about it?"

Reg stood and went to the replicator. "Brazilian coffee. Hot. Triple strength. Triple sweet." When the mug appeared, he took it over to Geordi. "Answer the lady, Geordi," Reg commanded. "What are you going to do?"

Geordi drank his coffee, glanced over at Reg, and then slowly regarded Leah Brahms. "I've been an ass."

"That about sums it up, " Leah sarcastically replied.

Geordi shook his head, and then instantly regretted it. "What do I do now? Take some time off?"

"No shore leave for you unless you use it to seek help."

"Deanna's on Betazed," Reg piped up.

"Huh?" Geordi mumbled, trying to comprehend it all. His head was still too muddled to deal with too many complex issues all at once.

Leah came over to him, knelt down in front of him and placed her hands on his thighs.

His sudden shortness of breath had nothing to do with his night's excesses.

"I'll take you. We'll go to Betazed together, if that's what you need. Or, I can discreetly inquire about finding someone else."

"Starfleet…" Geordi mumbled, between the pauses of the throbbing in his head.

"One of the advantages of being a civilian in Starfleet is that I can do things without anybody questioning my actions or motives. And if I want to go check out the test labs at SB G-6, or a warp propulsion lab on Betazed, then it is my prerogative. And if I take my staff with me, Starfleet be damned. They won't say a word."

Geordi searched her face trying to understand why she was willing to do this. "You don't have to, Leah. I can take care of myself."

Leah just simply surveyed him from his eyebrows to his knees, then caustically commented, "I can see that you're doing a terrific job of it, Geordi. We'll go as soon as I can make the arrangements." She glanced over at Barclay. "You'll come with us. Contact Counselor Troi."

Geordi blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "But what about your husband? Won't he object when you go?"

Leah's smile was brilliant even as she scolded him. "You really should pay more attention to station gossip, Geordi. Or maybe ask the computer a pertinent question, now and then. I was divorced, more than a year ago."

"The man's a fool," Geordi commented more to himself than her.

She patted his cheek. "Go and get some rest, Mr. LaForge. We'll discuss this tomorrow. And don't be late for that staff meeting. 0800."

"I'll be early, Doctor," Geordi promised. Though he was still miserable and full of guilt, his universe was not quite as miserable a place as it had been a few minutes ago.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Will Riker relaxed and put his feet up on his J'naiian rosewood desk. He considered this act to be one of the privileges of his rank and position. Besides, the only other officer that could tell him to put down his feet was the Starbase commander, a Commander Vincent Junot. And Junot had his own rosewood desk.

Riker sighed, sipping his double-strong Kona java as he contemplated the shift that was just beginning. A sun and two moons could be seen rising through the small star portal that Will could call his own, as the space station turned.

Being the Commandant of the graduate studies flight school was an unusual experience for Riker. He'd never imagined himself as a teacher-cum-babysitter before. But he could understand why Starfleet had chosen him for this particular position. He'd once been a space jock. In fact, there were a few officers at Command who still thought that he was a space jock.

He really understood these cadets; who they were. And he thought that he had a pretty good idea as to what it was that Starfleet wanted them to become. It was his responsibility to make sure that they were the best damn space jocks in the galaxy as well as simultaneously being officers too. He could teach them. He could do it.

Will had been their commandant for only nine weeks. He was surprised at how much he liked the job. But, this job would never take the place of being _Number One_.

He ordered up another cup of coffee from his personal replicator and idly thought of Deanna. He hadn't seen her since the wake. He'd chosen not to, because he nobly had wanted to give Worf the time alone with the lady. However, he did need shore leave. He mentally reviewed his schedule and decided that right after the mid-term exams, it would be the perfect time for it. It was time to go see Deanna.

_Deanna…_He thought of the events leading up to the wake…

Continued in THE BEST LAID PLANS, PART 3, under the "M" listings.


End file.
